CHAPTER NINETEEN | JOSH
“Have you seen a piece that looks just like this except, like, the opposite?” Duke asked.
I glanced up from the Ikea instruction booklet that I was reading and inspected the L-shaped wooden panel that Duke was holding up to me.
That L-shaped piece of wood was one of approximately two dozen oddly shaped segments, panels, and rods that littered the living room floor in our apartment; puzzle pieces that Duke and I were attempting to unscramble and turn into a baby crib.
So far, we had only gotten as far as building a flat rectangular frame.
“Try flipping it around,” I said.
Duke frowned thoughtfully, then he flipped the piece around in his hand.
“Oh shit,” he chuckled at himself. “Well now I feel like a dumbass…”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” I smirked. “I know the premise of building your own furniture instead of hiring someone to do it for you must seem really daunting…”
“Tell me about it,” Duke grunted, clearly missing the point of my joke.
Earlier that morning, Duke and I had made the hour-long journey south to Connecticut’s only Ikea store. We were only in New Haven, but we might as well have been on Mars: Duke had looked like he was a spaceman setting foot on Martian soil as I dragged him through the showroom. Apparently flat-packed budget furniture was still an alien concept to New England’s elite…
“What about a piece that’s shaped sort of like a rectangle, but--”
Before Duke could finish describe the piece that he was looking for, I handed him a flat panel that had been resting a few inches away from his leg.
“That’s it!” he said, grabbing it and holding it perpendicular to the other piece, creating a misshapen corner.
I turned back to the instructions without saying anything.
“So…” Duke said, dropping the pieces onto the floor and sliding back to grab his beer on the coffee table. “I noticed you chickened out the other night.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I grumbled, keeping my eyes on a printed diagram of the crib’s box spring assembly.
“Let me refresh your memory,” Duke said, taking another sip of beer. “Firehouse 56. Your anniversary party. A big announcement.”
Of course I knew what Duke was referring to: the ‘big announcement’ that I was supposed to make the other night, during my anniversary party at Firehouse 56. I had hashed the entire plan out with Duke beforehand, practicing what I would say and how I would say it. And then, moments before my big ‘reveal,’ the entire plan had gotten flushed down the shitter.
“You know why,” I reminded him. “Brady beat me to the punch.”
“Jeez, Josh…you really need to let all of this sibling rivalry bullshit go, already...” Duke shook his head at me. “Don’t you get tired of carrying around that chip on your shoulder all the time?”
“Sure,” I shrugged. “You know what else I get tired of?”
“Acting like a teenage girl?” Duke guessed.
“No,” I scowled, realizing too late that I was validating his guess. “I’m tired of always losing to Brady.”
“Losing what? What have you lost, Josh?”
“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” I said, chucking the instructions down and leaning back on the couch.
“This isn’t a contest,” Duke pressed on. “There’s no ‘first place’ or ‘second place.’ There’s no ‘winning’ or ‘losing.’ We’re all just trying to make the best out of the hand that we’ve been dealt.”
“That’s rich,” I snorted, “Coming from a guy who was born with more money in his trust fund than most people see in their entire lives.”
“You want to talk about my trust fund?” Duke asked, raising his voice. “All that money ever did was cripple me. I was a worthless, insufferable piece of shit who didn’t appreciate the value of anything.”
That’s…surprisingly accurate, I had to admit. And also probably the most honest and self-aware thing that I’ve ever heard Duke say.
“It took losing every penny that I had to my name to realize what I was capable of, but look at me now,” he paused to take a swig of beer, then continued:
“My family thought I was going to crash and burn without them supporting me, but I’m fine. I made the best out of it. Now I have my own place, I have a roommate that I treat like a brother, I drink cheap beer, I can build fucking furniture...” he motioned at the pile of crib pieces that were scattered over the floor.
“That last part is debatable,” I smirked.
“I’m trying to make a point here,” Duke said. “You can sit around making excuses and feeling sorry for yourself, or you can grow the fuck up and roll with the punches.”
I can’t believe Duke Williams is giving me a pep talk…I thought darkly, even though I had to admit that he was making a good point. Several good points, actually.
“You’re so focused on comparing yourself to your brother, that you can’t even see how lucky you are to have him,” Duke said, his tone softening.
I blinked up at Duke without saying anything.
“Brady would give his left nut for you, and you know it. He’d do anything for you, Josh. I bet everything that he’s done -- everything that you’ve resented him for -- he actually did for you; to set a good example for you, and to make sure that you had someone to look up to.”
My eyes glazed over as I stared at the crib pieces on the living room floor, trying to process what Duke was saying.
“You know how many people out there would kill to have a big brother like that?” he said. “I know I would. Out of my entire family, I’ve never had anybody that looked out for me the way that Brady looks out for you.”
“You’re right,” I said, forcing down the lump in the back of my throat.
“If I still had money,” Duke said, “I would have bet every last cent that Brady would have been fucking ecstatic if you had told him about the baby the other night.”
“But he has his own news to be ecstatic about--”
“No,” Duke cut me off. “Brady would have been ecstatic that the two of you would get to share this experience together. Think about it: becoming a father is this scary, life-shattering thing… Imagine what a relief it would be, to know that you’re not alone; to know that you have your brother by your side.”
I blinked a few times, considering what Duke was saying.
That night in the locker room, I had been so focused on my own insecurities that I hadn’t even given Brady a chance to speak for himself. Instead, I had just convinced myself that I was the fuck up; the loser. I had convinced myself that Brady was better than me, and it wasn’t because of anything that Brady had said or done…it was all just something I had created in my own head. And the worst part was: I hadn’t even given him the chance to prove me wrong.
“You’re right,” I said finally. “I thought I had gotten over all of this, back when Brady got married. I thought that I had gotten rid of all the jealousy and insecurity that I had towards my brother…but I guess I didn’t. It all came rushing right back when he told that he was having a baby with Cass.”
“I should have felt happy for my brother,” I realized. “And I should have let him feel happy for me. But I couldn’t do that, because I fell right back into the pattern of resenting him…”
“This is good,” Duke nodded encouragingly. “Like, really good. I feel like I’m on an episode of Doctor Laura. Which is bittersweet, because I haven’t actually been able to listen to Doctor Laura since my SiriusXM Radio subscription got canceled--”
I rolled my eyes and chucked the instruction pamphlet at Duke.
“I’m going to tell Brady,” I said. “But let’s get this crib finished first.”
Before I could put that plan into motion, though, I heard the sound of my phone ringing from the coffee table. I reached for it and glanced down at the screen: I didn’t recognize the number, but it had a local area code.
“I should take this,” I said. I stood up and walked to the kitchen, then I pressed the phone to my ear:
“Hello?”
“Mr. Hudson?” a male voice said through the speaker.
“That’s me.”
“Good evening, sir,” the voice said. “I’m calling from Hartford Memorial Hospital.”
Shit. My stomach sunk and my mind immediately rushed to Vanessa. Was she ok? Did something happen to the baby?!
“What is this regarding?” I demanded. “Is she ok?”
“Actually, sir, I’m calling in regards to a male patient,” the voice said. I felt a split second of relief, then my heart standing pounding again. Brady?
“You’re listed as an emergency contact for Mr. Thomas Hudson?” the voice asked.
“Yeah,” I frowned. “That’s my grandfather. Is everything ok?”
“I can’t provide much information over the phone, unfortunately,” the voice said. “Can you come into the hospital as soon as possible?”
“Of course,” I said, already reaching for my car keys. “I’m on my way.”